


These Remain Our Glory Days

by ignited



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Crack, M/M, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-30
Updated: 2009-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignited/pseuds/ignited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a law bans all superhero activities, Jared (alias Mr. Incredible) and Jensen (alias ElastiBoy) try to raise a family under the guise of normal civilians. Twenty years later, Jared's longing for the glory days threatens this safe and humdrum way of life, much to Jensen's worry. Will Mr. Incredible and ElastiBoy be able to join forces against a common enemy? And can they find a babysitter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

The last thing Jared wants to do to cap off an already hectic week is to partner up for patrol. Saying he works alone doesn't get him very far nowadays, as the National Supers Agency has been coordinating all active superheroes for the past few weeks, down to the very last detail. All missions have been either in pairs or larger groups, the NSA commands overruling the smaller, independent League of Super Heroes. He's beginning to think it has to deal with the super ban rumors—that pretty soon, the government is going to crack down hard on all active superheroes on duty, and right now with their new agency, they're making sure all their ducks are in a row. Or that all their eggs are in one basket. Jared's never been entirely sure about that metaphor.

He _is_ pretty hungry though.

"I could go for some food right now," Jared says, arms spread wide as he walks a narrow line on the building edge. "Like steak. Man, I want a whole steak."

On the building across the wide divide of the busy street, Jared can see a figure stir in the shadows above. He hears a soft chuckle in the earpiece he's wearing, watching as elastic limbs coil around stone gargoyles before they stretch down a few stories. The man is barely visible in the darkness—his near black costume doesn't help—but Jared can see the bright whites of his mask lenses and his smile.

"Less talking, more watching, Mr. Incredible."

"I work alone," Jared reminds him, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms. The bright blues and red of his costume make him stand out like a sore thumb on the roof, but it's his style. It's bold and vibrant. Not all dark and reclusive like his partner, who'd be better off with a name like Shadow or Lurker rather than his old mentor's namesake. They've hardly gotten along on the job for the past few frenzied weeks, but Jared—superhero alias, Mr. Incredible—and his partner got the job done when the situation called for it. Jared could do a little less with the curt tone and seriousness, especially when it's just a routine patrol and he's operating on an empty stomach.

"Not anymore," comes the murmured reply.

"That and some wine. Nice swanky dinner later tonight," Jared continues on, biting his lip as he raises a foot off the roof edge. Above him, the last vestiges of sunlight fade, an orange haze that's soon settling into the darker blues of the night sky. He gets a snort in response. "Hey, I can do stylish. I totally can."

"We'll just ignore all those times you went for pizza and beer at the League headquarters."

"The NSA's footing the bill now," Jared says with a shrug. "Last time I checked, _ElastiBoy_ , you seemed to enjoy it just fine."

"That's called peer pressure," ElastiBoy responds dismissively, rapidly stretching long limbs to get to the building edge. The wind ruffles his hair as he covers his earpiece with a palm. "Frozone and Golden Monk didn't drunk dare _you_ into sticking your entire fist in your mouth."

Jared closes his eyes, concentrating as he lowers his foot in the air. He smirks. "You were pretty stretchy, too."

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" ElastiBoy stretches his neck as he peers down at the bright lights of traffic below. "I'm flexible."

Jared can feel his face flush, just as the air under his foot feels solid enough to step onto. He takes that step and it's _happening_ —he's standing on air, this new power that hasn't quite developed, but _now_ —

There's a ticking sound.

"Jensen?"

ElastiBoy's growl is curt in his ear; the one thing they're not supposed to do is use their real names over audio transmissions. But Jared steps back onto the roof, running toward the edge. Below them, the new Metro Shopping Mall is filled to the brim with people, streams of colorful dots at this height that pour in and out of the exits.

And thanks to Jared's super hearing, there's a ticking noise above it all.

Jared sucks in a breath, moving back from the edge. "There's a bomb!"

"Incredible, what are you—?"

But Jared takes off, legs pumping hard and fast, closing his eyes as he launches himself off the roof, arms spread wide. The wind whips past his face, Jensen cursing through the static in Jared's earpiece, just as Jared tries to concentrate and _will_ his body to fly.

Two seconds into Jared's spectacular fall—rather than flight—he thinks it might have been a bad idea.

The ground comes rushing up at a dizzying speed, everything much bigger from the view at fifty stories above, until it's blackness—until it's Jensen's arms and legs and body, soft and malleable at once, wrapping around Jared and breaking his fall as they crash onto the hood of a mall police car.

Jared groans and rolls over as a flattened Jensen quickly inflates back to normal.

"Sorry about that," Jared mutters, turning on the charm as he waves to the stunned mall cops inside of the car. "Sorry!"

"Watch yourself, Incredible," Jensen says, voice flat and nasal before his face pushes out to normal. "Gotta make sure you stay in one piece."

They hop to their feet just as the windows of the mall's first floor shatter, screams in the distance. Two minutes later and there's police cars and fire trucks everywhere. People in costume, people in uniforms, reporters talking about the super villain Bomb Voyage and a possible hostage situation.

It's two minutes too many—they still haven't found the other bombs. Jensen is barking out orders to other costumed members of the League, always thinking ahead. He's this dark ribbon in the distance, constantly stretching to different parts of the building to locate the bombs. Jared lifts a large chunk of twisted metal and concrete above his head so that the police can get to trapped people underneath the rubble.

"Mr. Incredible, Mr. Incredible! I got this for you!" comes a voice, and a short guy nearly plows right into Jared, waving a huge metal gun that looks straight out of a sci-fi movie, bigger than his torso. Jared grunts, wobbling for a second but continuing to remain steady.

"Milo?"

"Anti-gravity gun," Milo says, grinning. "I made it myself!"

"Shouldn't you be back at, uh, headquarters?" Jared grunts, widening his stance. He may be invulnerable and have super strength, but heavy lifting has never been a cakewalk. "Assisting the newbies?"

Milo starts pressing buttons on the gun, lost in concentration. "I don't need to babysit when I can be out helping the front line."

"Milo! Look, kid, I don't make the rules—but you're not League material yet. Remember, everyone starts at the bottom." Especially when they have unspecified, possibly latent superpowers, Jared doesn't say. "You gotta let the professionals work, all right?"

"Just because I don't have a costume doesn't mean I can't help!" Milo insists.

"Being a superhero is _not_ about that…" Jared trails off, clearing his throat as tries to keep up the heavy wall. The floor shakes as an explosion goes off near the food court, fake plants and icicles flying up with the debris.

"We got it," Frozone says on the audio transmission. "You were right, dude. He really is that stretchy."

"Chad—Oh, never mind." Jared drops the wall behind him once everyone's clear, wincing as it falls to the floor with a resounding crack. The place is a battle zone, smoke and water spraying from busted pipes.

Jensen's voice pants in Jared's ear as Jared watches Milo fiddle with the ray gun angrily. "Still in one… piece?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Gonna… gonna need that later."

Later turns out to be Jared scowling at the news report and how their work is overshadowed by complaints from angry citizens, demanding an end to super heroics for all the damages. The superhero ban act's going up before Congress in a few weeks, so maybe then they'll hear an end to the debate. Jared doesn't think it can possibly go through. For all the complaints, there so many people that have been saved by the supers' actions. The support should be through the roof.

Right now though, he has different priorities. Such as trying to look presentable for the small ceremony, barely remembering to take off his mask before he'd gone inside the room. It's a small room that's used for religion classes, with a wiped off chalkboard pushed to the side and rows of plastic chairs haphazardly arranged into rows. Even if Jared almost forgets to change out of costume and into a suit, it's not like it matters much to the few witnesses here—all in costume, some a little sweaty and dirty from the night's mission. Jensen comes over to stand alongside Jared, his bangs mussed as he straightens his tie.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Jensen asks under his breath, smiling at the officiator as the ceremony begins.

"Of course I'm ready." Jared smirks. "Getting scared, ElastiBoy?"

Jensen murmurs out of the corner of his mouth as the officiator winds down the speech. "This is different, Jared. Things are changing."

His voice is low when he says it, another whisper pressed against Jared's lips as they kiss slowly. Around them, there's scattered clapping and whooping—mostly Frozone doing the whooping. When Jared pulls back, he can see the strength in Jensen's face, the same qualities that Jared has fallen in love with over their years in the League. All those missions in the past, the bickering and arguments they'd had trying to deny what they felt for each other, and saving each other's lives more than he can count.

Now it's not just _marriage_ changing them, but the world as they know it, too.

So naturally, Jared flashes a bright smile, optimistic to the end as he says, "We're superheroes. What's the worst that could happen?"

 

*

 

**PART ONE  
(** _Jared_ **)**

  
**SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER**   


Stone and steel don't give like they used to. The wall soon buckles and gives under his weight. Something in his shoulder pops, but he ignores it, carrying two unconscious bodies.

And soon enough, the whole thing is over—cold air hits him in the face, sharp contrast from the muffled heat. The people are unconscious, but they're safe. Taking down a building will get the fire trucks speeding in, ambulances, bystanders, chaos that he used to be familiar with on a daily basis.

But it's been too long since those days, as his shoulder muscle aches under cold fingers that pull him back into the safety of the alley.

"That was insane!" Chad's saying, bouncing on his heels. His adrenaline is pumping despite the scowl that soon appears. "We could've gotten caught. Fuck. That ain't pretending to go out bowling, man. That was too close."

Jared rests his hands on his knees, panting. He can see Chad leaning to look between him and the red and blue lights of police cars down the alley.

"Jared?"

"I'll be fine. They were all okay, right?" Jared squints up at Chad, his bangs sticking sweaty to his forehead. "You checked? I'm good."

"They're all right." Chad gives him a sideways look. "We're getting too old for this stuff."

He says 'we' to soften the blow, but Jared's not an idiot. It's _him_. He straightens to his full height and tries to ignore the pain that's shooting through his muscles, the tightening of his chest—the physical proof that he's changed and that he shouldn't be doing this.

But even though he's covered in dirt and grime, and Chad's cursing under his breath, there are people that are _alive_ thanks to them. People that are safe.

That's the most important thing, Jared knows, even if he has to get up early for the daily grind tomorrow.

Jared knows how he's ended up like this, but he doesn't have to like it.

 

*

 

Jared reaches into the car backseat, sucking in a breath as the seatbelt digs into his stomach. It looks like a hurricane has torn through the space: it's a mess of headphones, electronic games, action figures, and magazines. And those are just the _sharper_ objects—that's not counting the soft stuffed animals that his fingertips skim over, or the plush pony that keeps whacking him in the forehead.

"Hey, kiddo, that's enough of that," Jared murmurs, pulling a teddy bear out of the mess. He hands it over to the gurgling toddler in the car seat. "Here you go."

When he turns back to look through the passenger window, there's a blur of clothes before the car door opens and a young boy darts inside.

"You gonna tell me why your father had to pick you up from the principal's office, or do I have to guess?"

"It's not a big _deal_!"

Jensen opens the car door, slipping inside and shutting the door. He's wearing one of his ever present suits, the clothing a little too tight as he tugs at his collar. The grey color offsets the silver of his glasses and, if Jared squints, there's grey that's beginning to settle in Jensen's hair, right at the temples. Jensen looks over the thin rims of his glasses at Jared, eyes narrowing.

"He was caught on tape," Jensen says, looking into the rearview mirror. "What have I told you about cameras?"

"That anyone can be seen and not to touch the one you and Dad have in the bedroom?"

Jensen's eyes widen. He looks over at Jared, who's trying to swallow a mouthful of a candy bar. Jared shoves the candy bar into his jacket, saying thickly, "I plead the fifth."

"But no one could've seen anything!" his son whines, sprawling in the backseat, as though the whole conversation is sapping his life force. Jared can relate. His candy bar is slowly melting and they're now sitting through the longest red light imaginable. "What's the use of having powers if I'm supposed to keep them secret?"

"Zachary Ackles-Padalecki, for the last time, you are not allowed to use your super speed powers to put thumbtacks on your teacher's chair," Jensen sighs, leaning to check the baby. "We're supposed to keep our powers secret, remember? We need to fit in."

In the rearview mirror, Zac sighs, blowing up a lock of light brown hair out of his eyes. "Dad told me our powers make us special."

Jared taps a rhythm on the steering wheel, speeding up the SUV. "Hey, you're not getting any help from me, buddy."

" _Everyone_ is special," Jensen says, posture straight and chin held high. Their powers _did_ have some flexible benefits—enough to merit that camera in the bedroom. If it wasn't for the activities they get up to between the sheets, Jared would think Jensen needed to loosen up, since he's always prim in public. He bites his tongue, because blurting out that kind of comment when Jensen's trying to show discipline will only start another one of those arguments they've been having all too frequently lately.

Jared slows the SUV, pulling up to the curb of the local high school. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jensen's jaw clenching, his straight laced composure threatening to turn into anger. Jared leans over and kisses him on the mouth, whispering, "Calm down. We've had bigger things to worry about."

Jensen pushes his glasses up on his nose. "You're not helping."

"We can talk about…" Jared trails off, squinting. "Tell me I'm seeing things."

Outside the window, a tall, gangly girl stands near the staircase, out of view of a group of guys walking down. She's out of view because everything from the neck down is visible, while her head and neck aren't there. Jared puts a hand on Jensen's arm, hoping the touch will calm him down after what's going on outside.

"Eve, hurry up!" Zac shouts out the car window, followed by the baby giggling and throwing the pony toy at Jensen's head.

The girl turns around and her face fades into view, hazel eyes and light freckles, light brown hair reaching past her shoulders. When she rushes into the SUV, she's grinning widely, saying, "He looked at me!" before getting into a shouting match with Zac.

It's just another afternoon, and Jensen slumps down, posture forgotten as he palms his face, covering his eyes.

Jared grins wistfully as he steers his family home.

 

*

 

The thing about being a superhero is, no matter how smart you are, how many buildings you can leap in a single bound, how many villains you can destroy—none of that prepares you to be a husband, much less a parent.

Jared thought it would be easy, at first. Everything was falling down around them: the superhero ban act had passed by a narrow margin. The government enforced program to place all superhumans under civilian identities had begun, the League was disbanding under orders by the NSA, and then this, this restless little bundle of warmth was put in his arms as they said, "She's yours."

She was the first of the remaining clones the League had found in one of their old villains hideouts. The clones were the products of experiments gone wrong or, for Jared and Jensen, gone perfectly _right_. The scientists at the NSA confirmed that the child was a perfect mix of Mr. Incredible and ElastiBoy's DNA, created without any of them being wiser. If events had continued without the superheroes' interference, she would have likely been trained to destroy them, a nameless soldier in a clone army. But the remaining superheroes stopped all experiments in this particular hideout, still trying to find and destroy the others.

She was innocent and tiny, brought into a world that was growing tired of superhumans. The last vestiges of a world that wasn't going to exist any longer.

They named her Eve.

And that's the thing—he and Jensen, they weren't prepared for this. They didn't know a thing about diapers, a thing about formula or feeding, but they learned and took to the challenge. Their family was starting with Eve, and grew with Zac, another clone found. Areion, the last child, wasn't a clone at all—he was magic, through and through, a 'gift' courtesy of an old enemy. It's funny that they would run into sorcery after all these years, like freaky science wasn't enough to deal with.

They have kids now; messy, crying, loud, beautiful, strong, and _wonderful_ kids, with their parents' noses and eyes, their hair and their smiles.

And Jared has been married for seventeen years. It's enough that he still pinches himself, remembering the days when they thought they wouldn't live a day past thirty.

He has a lot more to pinch now, as Jensen's fingertips skim the curve of Jared's belly once they get back home. Jared jokingly puts the blame on his weight gain on Areion, a theory that's always getting shot down by Jensen, who'd helpfully points out that it had started long before the baby arrived.

It turns out being a superhero is no preparation for fatherhood and, in Jared's case, letting go and getting a pot belly.

It doesn't help that he's eating another candy bar now, sitting at the kitchen island as Jensen peeks into the fridge. "Leftovers?"

"God, no," Jared moans. "Let’s get pizza."

"We already had pizza this week."

"Is there some kinda rule that we can't have it again?" Jared shrugs. "The kids like it."

"The kids will eat ice cream and jelly beans every night if given the option," Jensen points out. "Just like Dad."

"I'm a growing boy," Jared says with a huff. He can't stay annoyed for long, because Jensen comes over and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, nips at his bottom lip. Jensen is a little softer himself—not nearly as much as Jared, but enough that he doesn't tease him too much.

Jared leans his head up, trying to kiss Jensen again but meeting the edge of Jensen's jaw instead. He's turning and looking to the doorway, where Misha stands with Areion in his arms.

Misha is still in his yoga instructor outfit, somehow always making the rumpled and sweaty look _good_ , much to Jared's annoyance. Sure, yoga instructor seems like the perfect career for Misha to put his talents towards—the Zen vibe he had as The Golden Monk comes to mind—and he does have the power of persuasion and mind control. But it's almost strange how after all this time, he's only used his powers for good, like calming people down when things get hectic.

Plus, he's a good babysitter when he isn't teaching classes. Jared has to give him that much.

"Oh. Sorry for interrupting. I think Areion ate one of Chad's tentacle candies."

Jensen's already at Misha's side before Jared can blink, quick movement that Jared's never been able to match. "One of Chad's _what?_ "

Areion immediately spits up on Jensen's collar and tie before he starts bawling.

Jared sighs. "Misha, do you want to stay over for dinner?"

 

*

 

"Ooh, what's this?"

Zac is a blur of movement, running around the dining room as the family gets ready to sit down for dinner. Jensen scoops him up by the collar and stretches his arm across the length of the table to place him in his chair. Zac scowls but he's still waving the package in his hand, lettering so small that Jared can't read it even if Zac would keep still for one second.

"Where’d you get that, Zac?" Jared asks, just as Zac drops the package in favor of opening up pizza boxes in search of his favorite: ham, pepperoni, and sausage. The package feels almost cool to the touch.

"Briefcase," Zac answers thickly.

Everyone shuffles into their seats, a little awkward because they don't usually do the family dinner together—they're all off doing their own things, eating at different times. But they're all seated at the same table now that Misha and Chad are here.

It's a stroke of luck, too, as Chad is between promotional tours. His leather jacket has a few advertisement patches on the front, and the sunglasses are definitely expensive and new. "That's freeze dried tentacle candy, Zac. Got 'em in Tokyo. They're awesome. And freeze-dried, get it?"

Jensen grunts between making silly faces for Areion as he feeds him. He's staying quiet tonight even as Chad's regaling them all with tales of his last trip as he digs into another slice of pizza. Zac and Eve are listening and eating their slices, while Misha's all wide eyed and surprisingly interested in what Chad's saying.

Which has to do with his last promotion, "...easy street, got me a hundred thousand. Japan doesn't have any official position on the supers relocation act. Did you know that, Jared? They don't lift a finger. And that's how the Frozone empire stays in business. It's cool there, man. Cool, get it? You should check it out," Chad tells him, tucking his sunglasses into his jacket. "Put on the old costume and a two day commercial shoot will set you up for the year."

The room goes quiet for a moment as Jared starts to cough. Misha slaps him on the back as Jared hacks up a mouthful of pizza. Zac and Eve look back and forth at their parents, and something twists in Jared's chest. He could do what Chad does. Declare his identity in public and go abroad for costumed work. Live off the residuals, maybe even get a penthouse apartment in the city like Chad. Just throw it all away and escape to somewhere else for a little while. Be _himself_ again. But it would be fake and too temporary, only for the cash and… And it wouldn't last.

It doesn't help that the kids' looks are questioning and almost disbelieving. They've never seen him or Jensen in costume. They didn't know Jared back _then_.

"If the suit still fits," Chad says, low, just as Jensen slams his fork and napkin down on the table.

"I have some news, everyone," Jensen says, smile taut. He blithely ignores Chad as he looks at everyone, not looking Jared in the eyes. "I'm going to be working on some important research for the government."

Eve's gaze flicks over to Jared. "But what about—"

"Misha's going to be helping me around the house with you guys. I'm getting back to work."

"Government stuff? Like top secret spy stuff? Dad, that's awesome!" Zac grins widely. "Like James Bond! Dude! Can we get a laser?"

"No lasers and no weapons. I got a call from some old buddies and they're interested in the work I've been doing. Remember those articles I wrote a while back for _The Smithsonian Journal_? One thing led to another…"

Jensen's beaming now, but Jared can't bring himself to join in the happy mood. He's still stuck on Chad's business proposition, and how easily Jensen shut it down, while Jensen doesn't think twice about doing work for the government. The very government that passed the ban against their superhero work, the one that had no trouble shuttling them off into civilian lives. Hiding their files like they never existed.

Sure, Jensen hasn't done any hands on projects for a year or two, not with the kids and all the moving they've been doing. But he's laid low for more than ten years, doing small jobs under the radar, all usually dealing with computer science and research. Never making waves, despite how easily he could climb the corporate ladder with his extensive, almost superhuman knowledge of technology.

This is the big leagues. This is getting to do something he's a natural at. That he'd be perfectly fit for.

And Jared can't help but feel left out.

"That's great. Really," Jared says curtly, wiping his mouth with a napkin and getting up. "Glad to see you're back on the NSA payroll."

Jensen's brow furrows, the family likewise appearing confused. "What?"

"No, it's—nothing. Nothing. You have fun. I've got some work to catch up on. Nice seeing you, Chad."

He shuffles up the staircase slow enough to know how there's silence left in his wake, the lack of conversation because they all know he can still hear them. If he's a _mile_ away, he could still hear them.

Getting a moment to himself isn't always easy with a house of five people—and occasional super powered guests—but for the most part, the Gaming Room is all his. It's a gallery of a past age, all done in dark woods and black lacquered frames, showing off trinkets and souvenirs of his and Jensen's past life. There's a pinball machine in one corner with cartoon versions of Mr. Incredible and ElastiBoy lit up in neon, exaggerated figures showing off their assets: Jared with huge muscles and Jensen bendy as a pretzel.

Jared tries not to think about all the times Jensen has shown off those sets of skills, draped over the machine as they kissed and nearly broke the thing from all the… _Thrusting_.

It kind of sucks how hard it is to have a good solitary pout when the object of your anger is staring at you right in the face from a dozen different ways, in newsprint and glossy photos.

It also sucks that since this room doubles as Jared's home office, he has a fresh reminder of real life staring him in the face, with the stack of bills he needs to look at, and his work files he still needs to review.

He's not sure how that manila envelope slipped into his briefcase though.

Probably during lunch, or those twenty minutes spent nursing a mug of coffee as co-workers did water cooler talk about stuff that didn't interest him at all. It's hard not to make faces from behind his mug. He's a grown man. He can _try_.

The envelope is thick and heavy, a business card and a gadget with a large LCD screen tumbling out as Jared opens it. Before he can press the on button, the screen lights up, a petite woman staring out from the blue glow. The no-nonsense business suit, dark hair tight in a bun, and black framed glasses make Jared think of an office motivational tape, like the ones he's slept through many a time at work.

Only this time, she's speaking to _him_.

"Mr. Incredible, I have a business proposition to make. We've been watching your clandestine missions for quite a while, and we'd like to request your help. On a much larger and highly compensated scale. I work for a top secret division of the government designing and testing technology…"

 

*

 

Today was not the day Jared had planned. The view from high on top of the hills is beautiful and pleasant. It's nice and quiet.

It's also one in the afternoon and Jared should be getting back to work now, not cooling down after throwing his boss half the length of the office.

Five days out of the week, from nine to five, Jared is stuck in a too small cubicle and a too small desk at Insuracare. The cubicle and chair can barely contain his large six foot four frame, and the additional weight he's carrying nowadays doesn't help the strain.

It's the latest in a long line of bad jobs that leave Jared feeling like a round peg in a square hole—never being able to really fit. Jensen has always been the better one when it comes to blending in. It's how he he's maintained a steady career as a computer scientist and how he's managed to help the family along with the NSA whenever they've needed to move.

It's been four times now. Four moves and four different jobs, the fifth job looking like the steadiest so far. Sitting in that tiny chair, Jared makes phone calls for hours, helping customers. Actually _helping_ them, listening to their hopes, how they need this payment, need for this to work out, and Jared can't turn them down. That's the good part of this job, at least. When he isn't dealing with phone calls or meeting them face to face, he tries to keep himself busy but paper airplanes and filing can only keep his interest for so long. Water cooler talk is limited when he doesn't care about wine tastings or fondue parties, and even if he was interested, he can't participate, not with the kids. He nods and smiles when he needs to, shuffles back to his cubicle, a tiny space for a body that's become too constricting.

It's good work, decent pay and benefits, and he gets to help people. That's the most important thing. Jared reminds himself of this on a daily basis. Sometimes, he thinks if he does it enough, then maybe it'll finally sink in.

Making sure people get that little slice of life that they work hard for, now, Jared can understand that. He can relate to it, think hard on it, even as he's called up to meet with the boss, Robert Singer.

"Jared," Robert starts, aligning the pencils on his desk. "I think you know why I called you up here."

Jared has heard this conversation before a number of times, already slouching in on himself as he waits. It's almost like Mad Libs now, how he fills in blanks in his head with different verbs, different ways of saying _you're fired_. He starts to look outside the office window, wishing he could join the flock of geese flying by, or the people on the sidewalks, or that person being mugged—

Jared can't help but have telescopic vision. He almost says that fact, too, only Mr. Singer doesn't necessarily take too kindly to Jared's urge to help the person. Or his suggestion that said person should've gotten Insuracare insurance, and the settlement would be its own reward.

So it's not like he plans to grab Singer by the wrist (and break said wrist) or, you know, throw him through a few walls.

But it happens. He can feel his face heating up, and all the pairs of eyes that turn to look at him, in the room. His mind is running the gamut of emotions, but above all of it is the sense of fear. It's like high school all over again, when his body was long and lanky, growing into itself, its powers. It took him a while back then, another added layer to trying to be an average teenager. It's hard to be average when you could lift your dad's car with one hand as he changed the tires.

Jensen helped him with that. Pulling back. Covering up the powers, using them in the right situations. Convincing him that normal was, well, _normal_.

But Jensen's voice and sense of reason isn't here right now, and there's nothing more than Jared would like than to have Jensen in his arms, solid and anchoring him. Keeping him steady from shooting off, from not being a freak.

When Jim Beaver comes, reprimanding Jared as NSA agents go around collecting stories and wiping memories, Jared promises he'll stop. He'll be careful.

Packing his cubicle isn't hard, because he never really unpacked and settled here to begin with. Once the memories of what happened are erased, it's like he never left an imprint. Another nameless office drone let go. They'll replace him shortly, because they always need more bodies, and he won't use his powers like—

He needs air.

Jim nods and claps Jared on the back, and like a gunshot, Jared is off.

He drives up to the hills in his Prius, feeling like he's ready to burst. The lack of heavy traffic gives an air that something isn't right—that people have caught on to what he's done, and they'll come after him. It's a neurotic, crazy thought that doesn't help his weak stomach as he pulls up to a good lookout point. It's all bright whites and blues up here, endless sky, light that bounces off the cars on roads below and makes him squint, adding to the pressure building in his head. The air is humid and warm as he gets out of the car, stretching.

His shirt feels like it'll stick to the dip of his back soon, fabric pulling tight at his waistband. It all _feels_ wrong.

Sure, the setting is peaceful. It's isolated and off the main highway, with a winding curve of road that leads up to camping grounds. Weeds and brush cover the parking space marks, chipped paint under his dress shoes. A random urge to bring the kids here pops up in his mind, and all the logistics that come with it: schedules and school, and how the warm, homey image that he sometimes conjures up hasn't been real for, well, ever.

Normalcy doesn't go hand in hand with that feeling that, if he could, he'd drop everything just to get up and _fight_.

Or fly away from this all.

Jared feels wrong to stand there in his cheap, ill-fitting suit, sweat stained and pathetic, sun beating down on him high above. It feels wrong and yet freeing at the same time, how he's miles away from his job and responsibility.

He rocks back on his heels, trying to will that power that he never quite mastered or exercised. Calling on that extra bit of adrenaline, that surge of super power through his muscles that can lift him off the ground.

It doesn't work. It never does.

The business card from the day before sits in his jacket pocket. With it, tales of an experiment gone wrong, a business proposition, and how, if he just accepted, he'd make three times his salary, get to use his powers, and save people. Lots and lots of people. Maybe that's what made him finally crack, that little bit of knowledge that he didn't need to be at his job anymore. He has opportunities if he can call on them. Chad's deal in Japan, or this, and this sounds so good, so _tempting_.

Freeing.

So, at the time, it makes perfect sense that he takes out the business card and dials the number, thumb running over the embossed name of 'Sandy McCoy'.

 

*

 

By the time Jared gets back home, it's ten P.M. and he's soaking wet from head to toe, this time from the evening downpour than the sprinkler system he's never fixed correctly and goes off every night.

Toys are scattered on the floor, miniature cars crunched under his shoes as he moves past the home office room. Jared pokes his head in to see Jensen slumped over on his desk, laptop bathing his face in a blue, pale glow. He could have been up late writing. Maybe it's another award winning article. Or maybe he's playing _World of Warcraft_. Jared wouldn't put it past Jensen to do both at the same time.

"Hey," Jared says, lightly tugging the glasses off Jensen's face. They're not bent, but Jensen's face certainly is, slowly reshaping back to normal as he struggles to wake up fully. "Hi."

"Where the hell have you been?" Jensen says, wiping his face, brow furrowed out of concern or the face smooshing. Again, hard to tell. "Working late?"

Jared pulls off his jacket, loosening his tie. "Yeah. Then I drove. It was a long day at the office. Needed to clear my head."

"Next time pick up the phone and give me a call," Jensen says softly, straightening as he puts his glasses back on. "I don't have super hearing like you do. I can't listen to where you are."

Jared sighs, his shoulders slumping. "I'm here, aren't I? I'm okay, I'm home, and it's not like there's any super villains hanging around. Who's gonna try?"

He sucks in a breath, feeling terrible as the words come out sharper than he means them to be.

He can see how Jensen's body tenses, almost rippling—this shift that he does to his muscles, flexible and soft exterior belying the solid and firm center. Any other time and Jared would be pressing himself against Jensen, whispering and turned on as all fuck, needy and wanting. But he's so tired, aching and dismayed with himself, that even the sight of Jensen makes him sad right now. Here he is, over forty years old and longing for an age that's come and gone, and left them both older and worn out.

Jensen bites his lip, looking like he's choosing his words carefully. "Were you doing missions again? Because of what Chad said?"

"So what if I—" Jared huffs, clenching his jaw as Jensen rolls his eyes and waves his hands out at Jared's admission. "I didn't _do_ anything tonight."

"You can't take risks like that, Jared. I mean, I know you miss the old job, but we can't—we can't do that anymore. We have a family now. It's the past, man. It's hard for me, too."

"Yeah, it's real hard teaching the kids not to use their powers and, oh, I don't know, _help_ people," Jared counters, glaring. "Don't you think things are supposed to be different? I feel like I'm living someone _else's_ life. That we're supposed to keep on doing what we do best and not pretend we're not better than _this_. We don't belong here."

"We belong here! That's the way things turned out, and that's the way they're supposed to be!" Jensen shouts, stretching taller with each word, until he's seven, eight feet, towering over Jared.

Jared opens his mouth to speak, but his super hearing gets the best of him, hearing the rustling above, the kids tossing in their sleep. One word away from waking up, as he raises an eyebrow at Jensen.

"Can we talk about this in the morning?" Jared asks.

Jensen nods his yes, weary and tired. And it's settled.

 

*

 

Except it isn't _exactly_ settled.

Morning talk for them is usually non-existent. It's short syllables, grunts, and once in a blue moon, it's whatever sex they can get in within the fifteen minutes after the alarm goes off. _At the crack of dawn_ , Jared calls it, when it's just fifteen minutes before the kids need to get up for school and Jensen needs to drop Areion off at the daycare next to Misha’s yoga studio.

When that happens, Jared will moan against Jensen's shoulder, pressing his hard-on into Jensen's side, a murmur of words that's usually, _can we fuck?_ , and then grin, feeling satisfied at his skills. 'Cause it will always be better than Jensen's rare request, which usually involves one too many syllables and limbs wrapped around weird places.

(Sometimes it's limbs and sometimes it's Jensen's silk ties. Jared isn't picky.)

This particular morning, Jared has a tie wrapped around his forehead and he's feeling pretty good about himself. Watching Jensen walk a little more bowlegged into the bathroom, grumbling under his breath, now that takes talent.

Jared will _totally_ take the grumbling as 'everything is okay'. He will also take the earlier groaning and muffled shouts too.

As well as the blowjobs. Those definitely count. Twice.

Thing is, as slow as Jensen is moving in the morning, and as proud as Jared feels for making him feel that way, it all means nothing when a few hours later, Jared is stretching and sweating for all the wrong reasons.

Like say, holding a mechanical arm up from crushing him under its weight.

Fucking killer robots.

 

*

 

Calling Sandy and flying out to the compound turns out to be one of the weirdest moments in Jared's life. Her proposition isn't that far-fetched: the experiment is undergoing a trial run and in order to be perfected, it needs to be disarmed and stopped. Sure, the experiment is a killer robot, but hey, there are lives of bystanders—that is, scientists on the compound—that need to be saved. There are heroics that need to be done.

And there is a check that's triple his yearly salary, with his name on it. For a day’s work.

The experience is significant, in that he hasn't done super heroics in costume for over fifteen years, but it's also really weird. The old costume is smaller—and a lot tighter—than he remembers, his reflection in the shiny metal robot casing resembles a whole other person. When did he become that middle-aged dude in a too tight superhero costume? When did he just _stop_ doing this—stop _being_ who he really is?

"Ahh, God, will you just hold still?!" Jared growls, feeling his boots dig into the muddy ground as the robot's arm presses down, trying to crush him. The fact that it resembles a gigantic reject Transformers robot makes him a little nostalgic for his youth, as well as a little disgusted, because Autobots don't kill people, _Decepticons_ do.

And who uses killer Autobots anyway? The whole idea is pretty lame.

And weird.

Sandy's voice in the commlink in his head distracts Jared from thinking about Chad and one of the toy campaigns he did that featured killer robots. "Have you disabled it yet?"

She sounds a little disinterested, like she's reading. Or having lunch.

It makes him gather his energy, because for one thing, after this morning and afternoon, he is fucking _starving_.

"Almost… got it!" he lies, feeling himself sink mid-ankle into the ground, legs beginning to buckle under the crushing weight.

The entire area is a few dozen miles away from the nearest town, but that doesn't mean he can delay. If the robot gets loose, there's potential for heavy damage. Above him, the sky is bright blue and the trees are green and lush. It seems like a perfect place to meet his end, because his head is beginning to swim, sounds muffled, the constant metal whirrs of the robot fading away.

He can _do_ this. He's Mr. Incredible. He can do any—

Jared grits his teeth and concentrates, focusing on what's in front of him. The thick, wiry robot arm that's trying to crush him, and the family that's a hundred miles away, that doesn't know he's here.

( _"I don't have super hearing like you do. I can't listen to where you are."_ )

When he opens his eyes, he can feel himself launching through the air. Not because he's been thrown, but because he's lifting through his own volition, because he concentrated and he's _flying_ , the smoking robot remains below him, punched through as he flies up.

"I'm flying!" Jared shouts, and it's pretty much the dumbest thing he's ever shouted. In a history of shouting dumb things at villains and comrades alike, it's at the top.

Especially because he starts gliding, and falling afterwards.

But for a few seconds, he was _flying_.

When he plunges to the ground, miraculously hitting the shallow shores of the nearby beach, he breaks the surface of the water laughing, crowing, and feeling a burst of energy that he hasn't felt in years.

"I'm back! I am _back_!" he says, stumbling to shore, pulling off the soaked gloves and pushing his hair off his face. "I fucking nailed it!"

He laughs and throws his head back, almost throwing his back out at the same time. But it's a good kind of hurt, he reasons.

He can definitely do this.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO  
(** _Jensen_ **)**

  
**TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO**   


For a scientist, the fact that many of the important things in Jensen's life appeared to come by chance frustrate him.

Sure, there had to be a scientific explanation for his powers—no on radioactive bites or gamma rays, must be the genes—and yet the precise set of powers he had, well, there was no control over that. His parents had died early on, so he had very little to go on when it came to family backgrounds. Being thrust into the current life he has, as sidekick and heir to the throne of one of the greatest superheroes, Elastic Man, now that was also chance. The fact that he had no activities to get in the way of Saturday night watch tower duty, well, that was logical. He really did have no social life. But as chance had it, he's a last minute replacement when Frozone can't take his shift.

It's chance as to how he got his powers, chance how he got this calling and this life, and chance as to how one gangly young man is roped into sharing monitor duty with Jensen.

Jensen has read enough of Incredible Kid's personnel file to know that he's flashy and something of a delinquent, relying too heavily on his powers and his charms. All ego and none of the real effort behind it. Just a pretty face, and pretty hair, and sculpted abs on a lanky body just beginning to fill out, long and lean with muscle.

And ego. Lots of ego. Good to remember that.

"What do you think about Blazestone? Danneel? She's kinda hot," Incredible is saying, wiping bangs out of his eyes and away from his domino mask. Jensen looks over at the panels in front of him, keeping an eye on the sensor readings. Making conversation while on duty is a trait he's been taught to avoid. Keep your guard up. Don't talk. Don't socialize. Keep your head in your work.

The League would teach him how to work well with others, Elastic Man had said, a little wistful. So far, it's taught him that his co-workers could be restless and erratic or prone to hormone driven acts of insanity.

"I don't have relationships with my co-workers so I can't give an informed opinion on that," Jensen replies. He can feel Incredible's gaze and see his open mouth without even having to turn around.

"Dude, it's just… makin' conversation," Incredible says. "And that's bull. You have relationships!"

"Name one."

Incredible Kid pauses. "Well. Me."

"That's fraternizing," Jensen corrects, upping the sensor with a series of button presses. The readings aren't leveling out, a strange problem that has him stretching up, arms first and then torso, checking the ceiling cables and wires above. Twenty feet below, Incredible has his arms folded, a disinterested blur of light and dark blue material as Jensen moves quickly, fixing cables. "We're acquaintances."

"Last time I checked, I thought we were friends," Incredible Kid calls up, and now he's standing, idly running a gloved hand along the metal console surface.

"You've served three weeks of monitor duty with me and were in my team for five out of the last seven missions. All of those missions having you outside of your normal squad." Jensen frowns. "Are you trying to get extra credit for additional time served?"

Incredible Kid laughs shortly. "You are such a fuckin' robot, Cowboy."

The nickname is something that Jensen can't ignore, as Incredible—as _Jared_ —has said it more than once, this twist of a smirk that follows it. They’re not supposed to know about each other’s backgrounds but the Incredible Kid pegged Jensen for a Texan the moment he spoke.

Jensen clears his throat, ignoring how it's still an illogical nickname—he's never stepped foot on a ranch—and strange because it's better than the other nicknames thrown his way. Stretch, Gumby, and the classic Freak. Perhaps they're not nicknames so much as they are taunts.

Biologically, he knows he's a freak of nature. Doesn't need to hear it, not when he can't get a solid grip on his body anyway. Always this rubbery quality to him, like he has no bones, and maybe he doesn't. Elastic Man hasn't revealed the extent of his medical records and tests—

"Seriously. Cowboy!" Jared shouts, poking at Jensen's midsection. "Can you come down?"

"You didn't answer my question," Jensen murmurs, slowly compressing back to normal height. The temptation to be taller than Jared is always there, but it would take too much energy to maintain it all the time. Besides that, there's always that sense in the back of his mind of maintaining accurate bodily composure, to keep that middle ground between solid and liquid. Feeling weak at the knees though, well that might be because of Jared's proximity to Jensen, tight and blue spandex covered muscle in front of him.

"You look like you needed a friend," Jared explains. "Y'know, someone to hang with when you're not in the Bat Cave."

"For your information, it's a _sanctuary_. There are no bats. That would not be sanitary."

Jared nods. "Right, right."

He licks his lips, which causes any explanation or thought to fly out of Jensen's brain, gaze focusing on the thin smirk that appears. "You're my friend, then."

"Yeah. If that's, uh, if that's okay with you. I kind of like you. I mean, hanging out with—"

"You're _attracted_ to me," Jensen says incredulously. He raises an eyebrow, and then frowns, knowing the mask covers too much of his bewildered expression. "Why?"

Jared huffs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Come on, I wouldn't hang around here if I didn't like you!"

"But I'm—"

The kiss Jared gives is abrupt and quick, teeth clicking as Jensen isn't prepared for it. They both grunt, an awkward shuffle of feet as they try to figure out the situation. It's a matter of seconds as they get their bearings before Jared presses against him, hips against hips.

Gloved fingers trace the curves of the raised logo emblazoned on Jensen's chest, warmth spreading from the touch. His body feels warm at once, heart hammering, bending up into Jared's space, into his lips, kissing back.

Somehow, Jensen can feel his body going rigid, narrow torso solidifying into strong muscle under Jared's palms, gripping his solid sides, his sharp hipbones.

He arches up into Jared's embrace, twining fingers into his loose hair, before—

"Oh my _God_ , I do _not_ need to know that!"

"What?"

 

*

 

  
**PRESENT DAY**   


Eve sits on one leg, the other dangling off her bed. Her room is a whirl of colors, bright artwork and bold posters, even though her personality tends to lean more toward the shy side. Jensen resists the urge to tell her to close her mouth, because he doesn't need to heap more of the parental correction urge on his plate.

He'd already come in straight after a hectic day of work to talk to her, sleeves rolled up and a look of concern, even though he wanted nothing more than to lose his composure and melt into a puddle in the bed upstairs.

But this is Eve. She'd asked him earlier if they could talk and he agreed to it, not expecting how hectic his first day back on the job would be. Super villains, explosions, hostage situations—those all seemed easier than trying to run experiments in a complex laboratory. Turns out that the months off the job have left him rusty, his focus less attuned to the precise details about mechanics and more attuned to the schedules of his three—or four, if counting Jared—kids.

So they talked. And Jensen decided to share some anecdotes, because those are good truth building exercises.

"Oh my _God_ , I do _not_ need to know that!"

"What?"

Eve scrunches her nose. "I don't want to think about you guys making out."

"It's important in the story," Jensen states. "I was lucky that your father helped me get out of my shell. Having powers isn't easy, Eve, but you shouldn't be ashamed of them. They're as part of you as anything else."

When she sighs, Jensen moves to sit next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders. Fifteen and she's already a few inches shorter than him. Soon enough he'll be dealing with two giants, plus there's always Zac and Areion. Then there's growing up and college… This is precisely why Jensen can sometimes understand Jared's complaints about him overanalyzing situations for every possible outcome.

"Yeah, but like… I don't want to turn invisible when I'm kissing some guy, you know? It's scary." Her breath hitches, posture going rigid, and it takes all that Jensen has not to hug her immediately.

Jared has always been the one for outright affection: small touches, hugs, pressing up close, clapping on the back. He's warmth and life, constantly moving, restless and needing to share that love, that excitement around. For all of Jensen's powers, the walls that he's built up have slowly lowered over time, but he's the serious one for the most part.

Still, he lifts her chin and says, "Who'd want to see through a pretty face like that?"

She smiles at first and then makes a face, shoving him away weakly. Jensen grins, standing up. "It's scary at first, but once you work on it, you can control your powers. Keep 'em secret."

"Shouldn't we tell the people we're close to, though?" Eve asks. "I mean, the real big stuff. The secrets."

Jensen clears his throat. Damn it. It's a loophole, but one that makes sense. Especially the way Jared's been acting lately. "For now, keep that secret. We'll talk about it when you're older. Besides, you're too young to date. You shouldn't be kissing any guys. Until you're 18. Like we were."

"But when did you first—"

"Make sure you're packed for tomorrow!" Jensen blurts, stretching immediately toward the bedroom door and out into the hallway in a single bound, Eve harrumphing behind him.

 

*

 

A few miles out, in a small suburb near San Antonio, is the Padalecki ranch. It's small and cozy, with an old front porch and clapboard shutters, this rustic look that Jensen has wondered on occasion why Jared's parents chosen to keep it. Why not rebuild and expand? They're retired now and other than the two dogs they keep, there's no one else to take care of. Jared's father had clapped Jensen on the shoulder, offered him a beer and said, "Preserving memories," by way of explanation.

He finally gets it when he sees Eve walking a narrow line on the wooden fence beam, clamping down the urge to tell her to get off, that she'll break her neck. His little girl is gone, grown into this teenager he's still adjusting to.

Briefly, she's back again, the little girl with wavy hair and crooked grin when she kisses him on the cheek, saying good night before heading off to one of the guest bedrooms. She passes Jared on the way, stepping up on tiptoes to get a hug as he holds two chilled beer bottles over her shoulder and tries not to get her wet.

"I put Zac and Areion to sleep," Jared says, offering one of the bottles to Jensen.

Jensen takes a long pull as Jared sits next to him on the porch steps. It's quiet, a little cold, the sky above a deep blue with pinpricks of stars. They finish their beers after a few silent minutes, both full and a little sleepy from Mrs. Padalecki's cooking. It's nice to be able to come out here for the weekend and get away from the stresses of work and everyday life.

"So, how's the new job?" Jared asks, clearing his throat. Whatever anger Jared might have had towards Jensen's new position seems to have gone after the past few days. His voice rises a little at the end of it, actually curious. Not just making conversation.

Sometimes Jensen thinks Jared is a little bitter that he's managed to hold down his jobs and continue his career without incident. The thing is, his job right now, it's safe. It won't have the kids traveling; it won't have them running from any danger.

It won't have them using their powers and being trained for combat.

Jensen almost snorts the last of the beer, coughing before he says, "Good, good. Schedule's a little hectic right now. Invention experiments."

"Oh. Like a laser or something?"

"I would tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," Jensen responds, smiling. "Confidential stuff, dude."

"Hey, remember that time you made those rocket engine boots back at H.Q.?" Jared asks, a wistful grin around the bottle lip. H.Q. had been the nickname for the League headquarters building they had spent their time in when they weren't in their normal civilian lives: high school, then college. Or their jobs, or being superhero sidekicks…

Jensen spent a lot of time at H.Q. inventing things. He also spent a lot of time inventing really shitty things to try out with his secret boyfriend.

(A 'secret' that lasted all of three weeks, because Jared was terrible at not staring at Jensen lovingly all of the time. Jensen still isn't sure if Jared was joking or not.)

"Yeah, and you zoomed right through a plate glass window, twenty floors up," Jensen says, shaking his head. "I thought you were dead."

Jared shrugs, getting to his feet. He pulls at his baggy hoodie awkwardly, like he's uncomfortable. "You caught me."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing. I found out just how far I could stretch from that experiment."

Jared laughs before he's heading out to the wooden fence, climbing up. He's a shadow of light blue in the moonlight, hair glinting lighter, wild and in his eyes. With the hoodie and jeans, for a second, Jared looks like the gangly teenager Jensen met years ago, before he turns and shows him the man he's filled out and grown into.

A warm and pleasant buzz of alcohol goes through Jensen, not enough to inebriate him, and nowhere near enough to keep away that nervousness he feels at watching Jared balance on the fence. He can already feel his body tightening like the coil of a spring, ready to stretch forward if Jared loses his balance.

"I wanted to try and be as fast as you are, remember?" Jared says softly.

"I kept practicing. It's like a muscle. You have to concentrate and keep doing it."

Jared closes his eyes and swallows, and Jensen feels too tight, too constricted. "What if you're out of practice?"

"You keep trying."

Jared hesitates, looking like he wants to say something else, but he stops. He takes a step forward into the empty air, and for the split second Jensen can swear that he's levitating.

"Be careful!" Jensen snaps as Jared falls off the fence and lands on one knee. He heads towards Jared, ready to stretch a hand out to Jared for support, stopping when Jared scowls, dusting off his knees.

When Jensen asks if he's all right, Jared nods quickly, jaw tight. He heads up the porch steps and lingers with the screen door open, Jensen collecting the bottles behind him. Jared is bathed in the orange porch light, sudden change that isn't an illusion: it shows the lines on his face and how he's older, but not as worn out as he's looked in the past.

He takes a breath and exhales, saying, "I got a promotion at work."

"What? That's… That's great!" Jensen exclaims, hesitating before he moves to hug Jared, clapping him on the back hard. "This is awesome, man. You deserve it."

Jared looks at Jensen strangely for a second, then his lips quirk into a smile. "Yeah… It's gonna be harder, but it should be worth it."

"I'm so proud of you," Jensen says, and this time, the hug he gives Jared has him lingering, sinking into him. Jared buries his nose into Jensen's neck and breathes out his thank you, his mouth curving into a smile against Jensen's collar.

 

*

 

If asked, Jensen is an expert when it comes to change. He's taken classes on it, read the books and did the training: how to adapt to any situation. He'd make MacGuyver cry in wonder. He'd make his kids cry in wonder too, if they actually knew who MacGuyver is, and really, that's the downside of television today. Less syndicated classics.

Anyway, he's an expert on change. His old mentor, the first behind the mask of Elastic Man, Jeff Morgan, had left him with a costume, an array of weird sci-fi equipment, and a set of rules. By the time the superhero ban came into place, Jeff had left his work to become a comedian, so Jensen wasn't entirely sure if his advice was accurate.

But he made it through those awkward teenage years—when he'd be that kid in the back of class, head down and drawing diagrams about lasers—and through those awkward young adulthood years, until he passed those stages and settled into husband and father. He's good at those. Jared would say as much, having helped him the whole way. Gone through the ups and downs of the superhero ban, been at Jensen's side since they've met, since they were teenagers, practically.

When he was young, Jared had been lanky, coltish, strong and still growing, unable to wield his body, let alone his powers. Over time his body filled with muscle, solid and strong, the quarterback for the league.

He stayed that way for a long while, and then the ban came in, _kids_ came in. The stress of it and his depression after the baby lead to overeating, and with less time and less motivation, Jared looked more like a linebacker, solid and thicker. Jensen doesn't mind it, because hey, he's used to change. He's grown a little softer himself, too, and if Jared's constant touches are anything to go on, he doesn't mind it either.

Jensen adds revisions to the maps in his mind, the dips, curves, and plains of Jared's flesh that he memorizes with every touch of his hands and every swipe of his tongue.

But soon enough, after his promotion, Jared starts waking up at the crack of dawn, slipping out for a morning run. He laughs softly whenever Jensen grabs for him, groggy, wanting that source of warmth and comfort to stay next to him. He comes back every morning red faced and sweaty, gulping down water like there's no tomorrow before he gets dressed and heads out for work.

Whatever he's doing—the running, the "company, uh, gym"—is working well, because within a few weeks, he's added definition to his stomach. The lines of his muscles stand out firm, years melting away, profile leaner, stronger.

What's surprising though, is how Jensen isn't prepared for Jared's moods to change. He's always been a laidback, funny kind of guy, but now, it's like a _mental_ weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Or maybe he's just really horny.

Whatever it is, it has Jared dragging his face along Jensen's arm and bicep, slow kisses that begin to linger at the crux of Jensen's neck. "Morning."

It's too early for more than one syllable. Jensen grunts, sucks his teeth as Jared pushes the sheet down, pushing a hand under the waistline of Jensen's boxers.

"Now?" Jensen frowns, turning into the warmth of Jared, long lines of muscles pressed against his side. "Gotta get the kids ready for school."

"Five minutes late won't hurt," Jared drawls, licking his lips as he thumbs the slit of Jensen's dick. "Five minutes."

Jensen groans. "You're going to wear me out."

"Losing your elasticity so soon, old man?" Jared purses his lips, bangs falling in his eyes. He doesn't have a super power of persuasion, but Jensen sometimes thinks it comes part and parcel with being Jared Padalecki, frustrating, restless, and god, it's too early for the wrist flick—

Jensen can feel his leg wrapping four times around Jared's own legs, effectively pulling him tight and pressed against him. The move makes Jared's fist jerk, a sudden pull along Jensen's dick that makes this weird embarrassing noise come out. The sound is muffled by the taut muscle of Jared's shoulder, and Jared feels warm, firm, and _good_.

Except the kids really do have school. Morning sex doesn't count as an excuse for being late.

"I… can't?" Jensen yelps, getting a shrug from Jared.

"Have a good day at work, babe," Jared says easily, then he drops to the floor and starts doing push-ups. Shirtless push-ups.

It really isn't fair.

 

*

 

"Jared, time for dinner!"

Inside of the Gaming Room, there's muffled noises, a shuffling of papers. Jensen sighs, trying to keep an eye on Zac running back and forth down the hallway.

"I'm…"

More noises.

"Are you eating the whole jar of peanut butter again?" Jensen pauses, frowning.

He sighs, watching Zac zip upstairs and hearing an indignant scream of teenage rage above from Eve.

"Then we can only make jelly sandwiches…" Jensen trails off, the door opening, broad expanse of Jared's chest in front of him. "Hi."

"Hi," Jared says, tucking his hair behind his ear. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I was, uh… putting up some new frames."

Jensen stretches a few inches, brow furrowing. "I thought you had the TV on. Thought I heard voices."

"You _do_ hear voices," Jared says lightly, one arm bracing against the doorframe. The snug t-shirt manages to show off his biceps, a sight for sore eyes. After a few years, it had been either hoodies or ill-fitting suits, Jared keeping his body covered, no longer showing off. Nowadays though, the t-shirts are back, and the jeans have made an appearance too, the old ones, tight and hanging off slimmer hips.

And before Jensen can retort, Jared's adding, "Voices that are telling you that we need to fuck."

Jensen stares at him for a moment, getting only a smirk and raised eyebrows, expectant and snarky. "No peanut butter?"

"Unless _you_ wanna lick it off me this time," Jared's saying, already rucking up his shirt on his forearms, material twisting up to reveal the definition that's reappearing, the six pack. New lines to be charted and memorized.

The hallway is empty, but Jensen does a double check anyway, barely getting a foot in the door as Jared tugs on his tie, pulling him inside of the room. They're alone for a while, the kids upstairs and the baby asleep. Then there's Jared, all encompassing, shoulders hunching forward, crowding Jensen.

Sex is not a rare commodity for them, but it's been too long that Jensen has felt this need flare up in him, too long since Jared's gaze has been hot and dark, want in his eyes. His hands fumble for Jared's jeans, clumsy and awkward, feeling like he's a teen again, unable to control his limbs.

But Jared does it for him, fingers working Jensen's belt and slacks, popping each button of his dress shirt with a swipe of his hand. And soon enough, Jensen's hips grind against Jared, body going slack as his legs wrap around Jared's waist, too.

Jared bears Jensen's weight easily, like he's light as a feather, breathing heavy against Jensen's neck. No longer ducking their heads, trying to undress as quietly as possible. Their lips match, fit easy and perfect, the kisses short and sloppy. His fingers twine in Jared's hair, tugging as he holds on, Jared carrying them both to the desk, a thump of noise as Jared clears the surface and deposits Jensen on the desk. It's graceless and it's perfect.

Things get a little uncoordinated from there—with Jensen lying out on the desk, and Jared fishing through junk and candy bars for the spare lube he keeps there for precisely these kind of emergencies.

"Didn't think you… thought you were busy," Jensen's saying, can't quite believe there's room in his lungs for talking, urge to shut up rising as Jared yanks of the rest of his clothes, time thankfully slowing down as he strips off his shirt.

It's a little hard to concentrate, blood rushing from his head and straight to his dick, the pale hues of newspaper clippings and memorabilia surrounding them, almost watching.

Little disconcerting, too, always has been, to see that scrawny, pretty twink version of himself in the photographs, that person he hasn't been for years.

"Not anymore," Jared grunts, slicking up his fingers, involuntarily thrusting against Jensen’s thigh.

"Oh, that's good. Great," Jensen lamely corrects as he barely has enough presence of mind to pull his slacks off. His mind then dies when Jared rolls the condom down his cock, slicking the lube down his shaft.

Jared leans over Jensen, spreading his thighs. "Ready?"

Jensen groans, nodding his yes, a hand snaking up to pull Jared head down, kissing his jaw, his neck. Half of his vision is a blur, glasses crooked on his nose, fireworks dancing behind his eyelids as Jared pushes in a slippery finger, then another.

It's habit that they do this, because he doesn't need to—Jensen is pliant and arching up under Jared, ready to take all of him right now, body flexing. It's almost _teasing_ Jensen, carrying this on like he can't take it all at once.

And then Jared nods, bangs brushing Jensen's forehead as he braces a hand on the desk edge, the other on the round of Jensen's hip, lining them up. Pushing him just so, until he pushes _in_ , slowly, Jensen clenching around him.

He feels tight and loose all at once, tense around Jared's dick, his own cock rubbing against Jared's belly. Jared's hand adds to the friction, his slow pulls becoming erratic and fast. Loose, as his legs go slack, wrapping around Jared's, pulling him tighter and deeper.

But Jared still knows the right angle, the last few strokes teasing, then pushing, tension building in Jared's body. It's a tightness that Jensen feels he's fighting against as he can't take it. One more stroke against his prostate and he's a goner. It's too much, and Jared sucks his tongue between his lips then bites Jensen's bottom lip.

"It's okay, Jensen," he says. "Let go."

It isn't long before Jensen's going off, feeling anchored by Jared's grip and gaze, body completely solid for once, spurting come on his belly. And Jared is pretty much gone after that, his kiss dragging along Jensen's jaw, an exhale of breath against his neck.

Jared rests his weight on an elbow, barely able to stand if it wasn't for Jensen's legs wrapping him tight. His fingertips ghost along the curve of Jensen's cheekbone, smiling down at him.

"You good?" he asks.

Jensen looks over the rims of his glasses, which have completely steamed over from perspiration, trying to look nonchalant. Meanwhile, his body doesn't agree with him, about to turn into a puddle as Jared pulls out. "Yes—Yeah, I'm… I'm great."

Jared grins devilishly and helps Jensen to his feet, biting back a laugh when Jensen wobbles forward.

 

*

 

The Gaming Room has never looked better when it's only them, sitting on the floor and laughing their asses off at old stories and pictures. It's the kind of laughing fit that only comes every so often, until their sides are hurting, the aches inside of him just as pleasing as the ache of a full belly laugh.

And when there's Jared to lean on, Jensen can't ask for anything better.

Maybe a better public image representative, for one thing. This minute, it's action figures. Before, it had been a cereal box with their faces plastered on the aged surface.

Jared gingerly tugs at the action figure's rubbery arms, his breathing evening out. Jensen tries to clamp down the giggles, sucking in a breath and coughing. He can feel the shift of muscles in Jared's arms, how his head turns, hair in his eyes.

"Eve has a boyfriend, doesn't she?" Jared says, his voice small. "I heard you two talking."

Jensen whistles as he straightens. "Eavesdropping?"

"Come on, man."

"Sorry."

"Does she, though?"

With Jared still and quiet at his side, it's hard to pull away from the source of support and warmth. But Jensen does, turning to look Jared in the eye. "She's… interested. Didn't think it would be this soon."

"Pretty soon Zac's gonna borrow the SUV. Cruise for chicks," Jared says with a laugh, knowing it'll make Jensen roll his eyes.

"They turned out to be pretty good kids," Jensen says, looking up at Jared's desk.

It's one of the few pieces of furniture that's not steeped in the past in this room, the surface haphazardly covered with the usual office supplies, Jared's laptop, and small framed photos. Everything that Jared had knocked over in the heat of the moment that they then scrambled to put back on afterwards.

One of the framed photos is as close as they've ever gotten to a family portrait, this geeky photo of the four of them at Disney World: the adults making faces, and their kids grinning wide, Mickey Mouse ears at an angle. Only a few years old and yet it seems like a lifetime ago—it's before Areion and this new neighborhood. Before the last time there were problems and they needed to be relocated.

Jared seems to notice Jensen's staring, hand reaching out to grab at his thigh.

"They are. Is this kid good enough for our Eve?" Jared asks, his eyes widening. "Oh, crap. We've got a teenager. How did we get a teenager?"

"Cloning?"

Jared pushes his hair off his face, more sarcasm than worry. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

 

*

 

The changes get even weirder.

What pass for routines and schedule in the household exist so that Jensen isn't driven insane. He's a little meticulous, a little overanalyzing, a little OCD and… okay, fine, he might be a little _insane_ , but he has reason to be. An unstable molecular structure. Three kids: a teenager, an eight year old, and a kid still potty training. A busy job, a mortgage, PTA meetings, house problems that never get fixed because he'd rather be solving computer equations than cleaning out the gutters.

He has schedules for exactly these reasons.

Only over the past few weeks, it's become the opposite.

Jared starts to pick up the kids from school—not only on the random day he's gotten out of work early. He takes Zac out to the track field on weekends to practice, as though he's satisfied with that now instead of pushing for their son to try out for the team. Other times, it's going to museums with Eve and buying her paint supplies. And Areion looks delighted at having another person to feed him and make faces basically all of the time.

It isn't like he didn't do these things before. It's just that Jensen doesn't have to ask him to do them, and they're a little more regimented now, less haphazard and on a whim.

It's weird.

And on one hot Saturday, it starts to get distracting.

"He mowed the backyard," Jensen says, his tone clipped as he looks over the latest project reports. From what little he can glean off the recent classified experiments, they've been costly and slow going.

It's a lot of numbers that swim in his head, making it hard to concentrate on the phone call he's on.

Over the phone, he can hear Areion make gurgling noises, which either indicates he needs to be changed or he might've eaten something weird again. Jensen wouldn't put it past him to eat Play-Doh again.

"What?" Misha says as he wrangles the phone out of Areion's reach.

"You asked me what's wrong with me and I'm telling you. He mowed the yard," Jensen replies dryly, eyes darting left and right as he stares at the computer screen.

Jensen doesn't have that much privacy in the facility, but for once, there's a lull in work, people in lab coats scattered here and there, talking, checking computers. His desk is somewhere beneath the mound of papers and folders, the messiness in his office work one vice he's never been able to shake. Being neurotic and keeping everything labeled and in order in the home comes naturally, but when it comes to his work, Jensen has a tendency to like the pack rat messiness of his cubicle. It's ordered in its own way: this tangle of objects that only he can navigate.

"Actually, I asked you how was your weekend?"

"So usually I mow the yard—" Though Jensen admits that this time it was trimmed nice and even—unlike Jensen's admittedly lazy stretching-an-arm-to-steer-while-typing-inside technique. "—but he wanted to, so I took a break with Areion."

This break involved stretching himself like a hammock between the trees out back, with Areion napping on Jensen's chest. He murmurs the detail under his breath so those around him can't hear, though he isn't sure Misha can either over the noise of Areion laughing.

"This is bad how?" Misha sounds confused.

"There was iced tea and tight jeans involved afterwards."

"You are acting like a teenager, you realize."

Jensen resists the urge to stretch his arm and bring over a stack of papers on the other side of the cubicle. He pushes off and rolls in his chair, keeping the cell tucked against his ear. "I'm well aware of that."

"Your interest in Jared shouldn't be detrimental. He is your husband after all."

"I think he's having a midlife crisis," Jensen insists. "And it's going to break my dick at this rate."

"Lovemaking should not be viewed as—"

"Oh, God, now I know what Eve felt."

Misha sighs, murmuring to Areion and likely shifting him from arm to arm. "Look, how is renewal in your relationship a bad thing?"

"We were supposed to get married and live in the suburbs and have three kids and grow old together, and now he's… Acting all weird. Like a teenager again."

"Is that so wrong?"

Jensen feels his composure threatening to slip, and so he straightens, glancing at his surroundings before whispering, "We're not supposed to make waves."

"But is it wrong, Jensen?" Misha repeats.

He feels relaxed all of a sudden, wondering whether it's due to mulling things over in his head or because of Misha's powers.

It isn't wrong. None of it is. It's great, actually. Jared is spending more time with the kids, no longer keeping to himself. They haven't been fighting for the longest, practically unable to keep their hands off each other. There's more bounce to Jared's step, more flashing his dimples, more laughing, this ease of mind and body that Jensen didn't know he missed.

It's not supposed to be weird—it's only _surprising_ , is what it is, after all this drab and mundane for a while.

"No. No, you're right. I'll give him a call now. Thanks," Jensen says, hanging up. He dials Jared's office number, knowing his cell might be turned off, especially after the last time they called—and the phone sex had been hard to explain—and he gets the receptionist.

"Can I speak to Jared Padalecki? It's his husband."

"Jared Padalecki?" There's a pause on the other end, before the woman says, "I'm sorry, but Mr. Padalecki is no longer employed at Insuracare. He left the company three months ago."

The steady beep of call waiting and the group of scientists chatting nearby prevents Jensen from letting a litany of curses out, because he can only maintain civility for so long before he snaps.

"My mistake," he bites out before ending the call and answering the new call coming through.

"Jensen? It's Misha. I just got a call from a collectibles store about Jared's order being expanded on?"

Once Misha says 'collectibles store', everything starts to make sense.

 

*

 

It turns out that the fashion maven responsible for the superhero look of yesteryear is still in business and operates out of an old and musty collectibles store.

The place would be fitting if it wasn't so _weird_ when Jensen strolls in, Eve and Zac following him into this slice of the past with complete disinterest. To the young customers already browsing in the store, he looks like a parent, or some middle aged 'old guy', which isn't helped when he's wearing baggy jeans (in all the wrong ways) and an old t-shirt of the local basketball team, confirming his uncool status.

The grey in his hair doesn't do much for the image either. Still, he used to be the subject of those action figures the kids are now examining, Eve pointing out one of Jensen's old enemies in miniature size.

Thing is, the collectibles are still living that life, snapshots of another time. Their bodies gleaming pristine and ageless in print and encased in glass, figurines that the kids pick up for a brief moment before dropping in favor of the next shiny toy.

Jensen makes his way to the back register, tapping his fingers on the countertop. The office door swings open, revealing a tiny, drab office, and a short, middle aged man who's slightly balding, staring at Jensen with wide eyes.

"Jensen?"

"Hey, Eric," Jensen replies warmly, feeling his mouth twist into a fake smile that doesn't meet his eyes. It happens when he's resisting the urge to squirm at how Eric scrutinizes him.

"Oh, wow, you got _old_."

Jensen frowns, opening his mouth to respond but Eric's already hustling him into the office, barking at the only other worker there to mind the store as he deals with one of his 'top customers.' He doesn't even get a chance to explain what he's doing there, not when Eric pushes one book spine in the tiny bookcase set inside the hideous '70s inspired wood-paneled wall and there's a secret passage in front of them.

Jensen has to admit that it's pretty cool.

One long elevator ride and a few hundred feet later, when they enter the secret space or hideout or _whatever_ it is, underground, Jensen needs to revise the sentiment. It's awesome and slightly overwhelming, to see the large metal statues of heroes and panes of clear, lit up glass and computer panels.

The room is half battle station and half fashion factory, with rolls of silk, leather, and rubber line up against the walls, mannequin heads wearing different sized masks as a silent, faceless audience.

And in the middle of it all, Eric beams at him, that same guy who twenty five years before, presented Jensen and many others with their costumes with the same enthusiasm and reverence he's always had.

"Eric."

"Glad you're here! I'm not sure if I have the measurements right, since I did base it on seventeen year old figures when it came to you and guesstimated with the kids, and obviously your body has, uh, changed in the meantime." Eric nods, pressing his thumb against a panel and typing in a series of codes with his other hand. "It's ninety five percent spandex. Stretches. Other five percent's cotton. Cotton _breathes_."

Trying to interrupt Eric Kripke is a lost cause, especially when he has the ability to take words and thoughts away as easily as pressing a button. A button that involves walls sliding away to reveal a tableau of suspended costumes of different sizes, all in red material and black leather gloves and boots. Each mannequin has a raised 'I' logo emblazoned on the chest in leather, and the black domino masks all look like Jared's old mask.

A teenage girl, a young boy, and even a red onesie.

The fact that the adult male costume is being pulled and twisted into lengthy directions by robot arms doesn't throw Jensen. What throws him is the flamethrower that starts to charbroil the baby outfit as Eric's saying, "…impervious to up to a thousand degrees!"

"What the fuck is going _on_ here?" Jensen finally sputters.

"I know!" Eric exclaims, waving his arms at the costumes. "They're all works of art! Perfection! Words fail me too."

"This… I… It's invisible?" Jensen's voice rises as he sees the girl costume shimmer and disappear for a second, before becoming visible again. "Why did you make these? We're civilians now! Jared and I don't do that any more. It's in the past."

"I felt compelled to expand on his order. It's a challenge! Oh and don't worry about paying, I put it on Frozone's tab. He owes me big time for recommending the nipples on the Clooney Batsuit. I'll never live that job down," Eric sniffles.

As though he can tell how desperately Jensen needs a drink right now, Eric presses another button and a floor panel rotates out of the ground to reveal two chairs and a table with glasses and scotch. Jensen ignores the glass and heads right for the bottle, sucking down a gulp before wiping his mouth and pointing at Eric. "So, Jared did come by. And short sentences, Eric, otherwise we'll see the return of ElastiBoy. Starting with an elastic fist to the face."

Eric immediately sits down, posture straight. For all his talk, he's still able to get nervous.

Jensen wasn't always the science and tech geek. He's known for getting his way, whether it involved negotiation by talking or by force.

"Jared was so excited about it—he had big plans and, of course, I listened but you know how he is, he likes pink and plaid and it's… a mess. So I went with the red. Bold without coming off like a jerk. Maybe a little Flash in there too—" Off Jensen's glare, Eric starts to hurry, continuing, "I thought you knew! Unless he's doing some covert ops, which is lame because I totally would've gone with the camouflage and upped the invisible print."

Jensen rubs the bridge of his nose. "He's doing missions? For what…"

The wheels start to click into place. _Fast_.

"It's not a midlife crisis. He's doing missions! He's…" Jensen takes another gulp of the scotch. " _That's_ why he's gotten back into shape. That's why we keep having all the sex. That's why he's—I'm going to kill him."

"For the sex?"

"No!" Jensen barks, standing up abruptly. "And now he's going to get himself killed."

"Actually, he seems pretty stationary to me," Eric says, his gaze focused on one of the glowing computer screens above. It's a map of the coast, with a huge compound near the water, and right in the middle of it, a glowing red dot.

If Eric happens to fall over when Jensen shoves him out of the way to look, well, that's punishment for enabling Jared to return to super heroics. Without telling Jensen.

"You put a _tracking device_ on him?"

Eric shrugs. "I like to know where my work is. And where any super heroics occur, there's always a need for a tailor."

He gestures at the panel, but Jensen is already moving closer. Now everything else seems to fade in the background, all his focus on that blinking little light, the one that will lead him to answers.

"Uh, you know, if you want the coordinates, you just need to press the button."

So he does.

And that's how it all goes to hell.

 

 

*

 

Whenever they had done group missions, ElastiBoy was always the Tech Support. Part of it had been because his powers didn't make him one of the heavy hitters, and the other part being that he _liked_ being in the background, keeping his shyness private.

Part of it also had to do with how, being the Tech Support, he didn't have to fly the league jet. That was always Jared's job.

Except one called in favor and three hours later, he's feeling green around the gills and fighting the urge to vomit all over the flight controls of the loaned jet. Thankfully, knowing how to control it comes to him easy enough, like riding a very expensive, very technical, very enormous bicycle. His arms stretch up and twist fast enough to reach all the controls.

Outside, the weather is clear and free of clouds, the horizon turning pink and orange from the setting sun. Hills and grey lengths of highway stretch out beneath before he's heading out over the coast, water rippling below. The radio silence is strange and unnerving, before he starts to hear rustling.

There are little shuffling noises nearby. Maybe it's the voices that Jared had joked about. Perfect. Delusions as a side effect from nausea.

Jensen dials Misha's cell, skipping the pleasantries once he picks up. "Are the kids okay?"

"Hello to you too," Misha replies dryly. "I'm just watching the little one. After you dropped off Even and Zac, Eve said that you were supposed to take them to a museum exhibit that opens today. The new dinosaur on display? Anyway, Ben came by and picked them up."

Jensen's brow furrows, not from the readings on the screen, but from Misha's statement. "What? That exhibit opened last week and who the hell is Ben?"

"Ben Edlund? He works with Kripke. He had some kind of power but he liked to use it for behind-the-scenes stuff. Can't remember what it was."

"Imagination. He came up with the most cracked out ideas," Jensen answers through gritted teeth."

So, he's _definitely_ hearing voices. He says a hurried goodbye and hangs up before turning around to see a flicker of movement back in the rear cockpit passenger seats. An arm stretches out, meaning to pass through air but it just misses his son and daughter, materializing into view suddenly. Gleaming red and black, their costumes fit them perfectly, black masks making their eyes stand out brightly.

It's a testament to Jensen's sanity that the first thing he thinks is wondering how Eve can project her invisibility now, shielding Zac from view.

He follows the thought with saying, "How did you get your brother to stand so still?"

"Hey!" Zac pouts, arms folding. "I can _totally_ stay still!"

"You are _totally_ grounded," Jensen snaps, gritting his teeth. It explains how he felt weird getting the jet, feeling like he'd been watched—and he was, managing not to notice his two kids tagging along for the ride. "You shouldn't be here! I can't believe you'd go and—"

"We're family," Eve says, bracing an arm against Jensen's chair. She looks up at the horizon outside, eyes vibrant green and looking older than she is. "We do this together."

"I can't even believe this—damn it, Ben."

"Don't blame Mr. Edlund," Eve interjects. "He said we were supposed to be doing this."

"He explained it with these puppets," Zac agrees. He punches his first into his palm, ready to take on the world. "We gotta save Dad."

Jensen can't deny that he feels a flare of pride deep down, heart clenching. But this is not the time for junior heroics. Not when lives are at stake. "No, that is _not_ what we're doing. You two are going to—"

He stops short, a loud series of beeps on the radar coming on. "What the—Abort, abort! Friendly approaching, abort—Kids, put your seatbelts—shit, _abort_ , there are children aboard!"

They don't get a chance to lock the seat belts. Not when a missile plows into the jet.

They don't get to do much of anything else after that.

 

*

 

The drop feels endless, but in reality it's a few seconds. His body goes on overdrive, forming a parachute and pulling the kids to safety in his arms, the ground rising up quickly beneath them. He catches a gust of air and manages to slow their descent into a thicket of trees. Shrapnel rains down, the flaming chunks of aircraft barely missing them as they run, Zac pulling Eve and yelling at her to run faster.

A few hundred feet and seven unconscious henchmen later, Jensen is slinking through the compound, trying to not to vomit from air sickness or get caught by guards. Getting caught is a little more difficult when wearing bright red spandex that's very unflattering on his midsection—or his legs, because knee high boots? Really? Emphasizing his bow legs, _awesome_.

The compound itself looks like the standard empty warehouse fare with a dash of douchebag condo thrown in. Huge trucks with tarps and some small jets are parked around the area, to add to the Hollywood action movie and militaristic feel of it. It's sturdy walls and only one floor, something Jensen doesn't get until he spies the large elevator inside of the building, leading right down to what has to be an underground complex.

"Dad?"

Jensen jerks, hitting his head on the wall beneath the window he'd been looking through. The air shimmers in front of him, revealing Eve and Zac crouching near him.

"I want you both to stay in the shadows, all right? Eve, do me a favor and watch your brother. Don't touch anything and don't you dare follow me," Jensen instructs, shushing Zac as he groans. "Stay together. If they see you, I want you to run."

"Why can't we fight?" Zac says, craning his neck as though he's looking for someone to practice this urge on.

"Because if you fight, there's a chance you're going to get hurt. This isn't like the movies. Bad guys don't fight fair. They could… I couldn't live with myself if you two—" Jensen swallows audibly. "Just. Listen to me. Stay hidden and you'll stay safe."

Eve nods, pulling Zac to stand near her. The air shimmers again and both of the kids are invisible save for the light footprints they leave as they run for the cover of the nearby forest.

And he's alone.

Jensen hates leaving the kids behind, chest feeling too heavy and tight. He doesn't want to bring them into this. To have to watch their eyes, how the world shifts as they realize it's not a game. It's real and he's lived it, and now he's raising his kids to do the same.

However, as much as he hates how easily he snaps back into his mindset of days long gone by, now is not the time to dwell.

Now is the time to get to work.

 

*

 

As impenetrable as the compound should be with all its henchmen and surveillance, it is surprisingly easy for Jensen to bypass security. He might not have used his powers for this particular purpose in years, but all it takes is stretching that old muscle. Or all of his muscles in order to fit through the cracks and edges of doors, stretching himself paper thin to get past.

Jensen slinks through the passages, slipping down into the elevator chute when a guard looks the other way. He presses himself flat against the elevator car once it begins to move down. Convenient.

Turns out he's still good at doing this. Even if the paper thin stretching is wearing him out a bit. He holds his breath, face inches away from the rough stone walls that zoom by as the elevator glides down.

The elevator slows to a stop and Jensen hustles himself out. It's a stone hallway with thick steel doors, technical readouts with red and green lights glowing. Right behind _this_ door though, the energy levels are off the charts.

The two henchmen are knocked down in mere seconds, barely getting out shouts of surprise as Jensen shoots his fists out in the convenient shape of hammers. He whips his fists into their faces, hard. The old 1-2 knockout.

Jensen has never been one to rely on luck or chance. But he murmurs under his breath, _please be okay_ , once he swipes one of the henchmen's key cards and the doors slide open.


	3. Fic: 'These Remain Our Glory Days' (Jared/Jensen; NC-17) 3/3

**PART THREE  
(** _Jared_ **)**

 

Two years after they moved into their first neighborhood, they went to a barbeque. It's the first one that Jared has been to without his parents there, without his friends there. No one knew anything about him: his small town beginnings, his foray into being a superhero at seventeen, and making a career of it for eight years. To the people at the barbeque, he's only Jared Padalecki, new husband, new dad, and a new recruit in the police force. _New_ is a key word they keep using for everything in his life now. New life and a new beginning. They—the League, the NSA, even _Jensen_ —threw the word around so much that Jared was beginning to believe it.

Even if it turned out that Jared got let go from the force a month later—not because he did anything out of the ordinary, but because the NSA found out and wanted "to protect him."

"Let's move," Jared had said, holding Eve on his hip. She tugged on his hair and giggled, while Jared stared holes in Jensen's back, watching him get ready for work. He had just dropped his briefcase as Jared spoke, slowly turning to look up at him.

"What? Why?"

"I was driving to meet Jim yesterday to ask if he could find me a job," Jared said, keeping his gaze on Eve, watching her poke and prod at his jacket collar. "And there was an accident. Car pile-up. And you know what? I couldn't go and use my powers to help. Because it's against the law now."

Jensen stood up and said, "There are the EMTs and police. They could… I'm sorry, Jared."

"Let's go," Jared pleaded, hiking Eve up. "Somewhere else. Travelling. We can… we can take Eve with us and—"

"And do what? Raise her on the road? Train her into… into being a superhero? Growing up too fast and seeing too much—doing the type of stuff we had to do? Do you want to do that to her?"

Jensen was right. He knew from experience.

Jared didn't want that to happen to Eve, to make her into that.

So they changed.

It's exactly why, when the alarms flash and sounds go off, when he hears Sandy's voice shake that the missiles hit, that he can feel his knees give out.

For all Jared's wants and needs, things _have_ changed, it isn't about him any more. It's about his family, the same family in the exploding jet high above the compound.

The same family that's dead.

"Target eliminated," Sandy's saying, but it's soft and distant. Jared can feel the floor drop out beneath him, nausea roiling his stomach and his head swimming. He can barely hear the maniacal laugh in his direction, the monologue. It turns out that this job—this trial—is a ploy, just used to sharpen the skills of the robot. There's a whole grand plan behind it, and Milo, _Milo_ , that kid he barely noticed back in the League, he's standing in front of Jared now, mocking him, saying he's won. That Jared fell for it. That he's some hotshot hero who doesn't care for anyone but himself, that now, _now_ , Milo will swoop in, wearing his cheesy leather uniform and save the city from a group of killer robots. All these years perfecting gadgets to put to his own evil, fame seeking purposes.

It's the same story but a different twist, one Jared has heard before, in another time and place.

But Jared doesn't care about that right now. Not even when Milo leaves, and Sandy, of all people, lets Jared out of his electric binds.

"If you hurry, you can stop him," she's saying as he stands up, barely able to look at her. Her hands linger on his gloved arm and then, that's when she says, "They're okay, Jared. I saw them on the surveillance camera. Couldn't let Milo know."

The breath's knocked out of _her_ this time, as he grabs her shoulders hard, saying, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Sandy gasps, shaking her head. "He never told me about attacking the city. I have _friends_ there."

He swears he's floating on air when he hugs her immediately, grinning. Apparently, he is, since the doors open and he falls about a foot, nearly crashing to the floor when Jensen steps in. Wearing the new costume, black and red material snug around his muscles. The lines of the suit form a V that leads down to his hips, and if Jared wasn't still processing that his husband's alive, he'd immediately tackle him.

Jensen stares at both of them for a second before an arm snaps forward twenty feet and smacks Jared upside his head, a brief flash of pain.

"Oww!" Jared cries, rubbing his head as Jensen comes over.

"You idiot," Jensen says, looking at the cavernous space and computer terminals. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

The ground rumbles, dust from the high ceiling falling down. When Sandy darts off to check out the row of monitors nearby, Jared feels all of eighteen again, unable to look Jensen in the eyes. Only they aren't awkward teenagers anymore. They're adults now, with too many secrets kept between them. The cat's out of the bag, with Jensen looking murderous—and yet still very attractive—in his costume, fabric snug in all of the right places.

But that isn't the point. The point is that he's _alive_.

Jensen can have all the super speed reflexes that he wants, but even he's thrown when Jared grabs him and crushes his mouth against his own, kisses him as though his life depends on it. He cradles Jensen's face in his palms, grinning at the bewildered expression, the little crow's feet that Jared can see underneath the black eye makeup and domino mask.

"God, I love you," Jared murmurs, feeling his grin widen as Jensen snakes an arm around his waist, almost wrapping around twice.

"You're an idiot," Jensen reminds him, which, in a way, has always been a code phrase for _I love you_ in the weird, yet working relationship that they have. Only this time it really does apply. "You could've gotten yourself killed."

"But I didn't," Jared says proudly, even though Jensen looks like he wants to smack him. Again. "I'm sorry. I should've… I was thinking of myself. Wanted to feel like I used to, back in the day. But you and the kids, Jensen, I can't loose you. I _can't_. It's you guys. You're the most important—"

Jensen kisses him abruptly. "I know. City to save."

Jared grins. "And you're _alive_!"

"Of course I'm alive. Still need to kill you first."

"Guys, if I can interrupt?"

Over at the monitors, Sandy watches, attention rapt. "I think your kids just blew up a truck with one of the jet fighters. And now one of them is running on water?"

Jared _swears_ he sees Jensen smirk out of the corner of his eye, a flash of pride that dissipates just as quickly, shaking his head. He can understand the push pull of emotions here: that pride from seeing them use their powers for good, or, well, for explosions. But it's tinged with disappointment, too, because as proud as he is, they can get hurt now—and Jared or Jensen can't always be there to protect them.

It's a cycle that they thought they'd be rid of, but it looks as though their kids might follow the same path too.

Judging by the whooping Zac's doing on the commlink, though, it can't be so bad.

Jared opens his mouth to speak but Jensen cuts him off, already moving to the door. "He's still grounded!"

"Aww, man. But didn't you hear? He ran on water! That's pretty—"

"Incredible," Jensen says. "Get your ass over here."

"Got it, Cowboy."

 

*

 

When the sirens start wailing down the streets and there's smoke in the air, that's when it hits Jared—this is partly his fault. If anyone, _anyone_ gets hurt, he's to blame.

"Concentrate on getting us there in one piece," is Jensen's only response, his arms twisted tightly around the armrests of the small helicopter they'd managed to take once Sandy gave them the all clear. His face scrunches up, glaring when Jared laughs, amused that Jensen is still nauseous from jet flying after all this time.

Zac kicks the back of Jared's chair, a restless bundle of energy that isn't put off at the action they've just witnessed. "Why does Dad get to fly?"

"Because I've got a license," Jared says, unable to push down the grin as he settles the jet down to land in a wide abandoned intersection of street. Eve is shouting over the wind, screaming and pointing outside, her loose hair whipping against her face.

Within minutes, they're beginning to get a handle on the situation: three robots, all the same type, and before he was knocked out cold with a girlish scream, Milo in the middle of them, holding another large ray gun. Jared has never been able to understand where super villains get all these ideas to combat their compensation issues. Other guys might put their energy into safe areas. Golf. Jogging. Buying a sports car.

Going out on missions.

Not that he has anything to compensate for. No way.

However, the evil plan Milo had devised isn't working, because the intersection is a wasteland of rubble and twisted scraps of metal, cars on their sides, smoke in the air. People in the area are scattered: some run for their lives and others watch, amazed at the display. A couple dozen feet away, Jensen has his hands—and arms, and legs—full, limbs wrapped tight around one of the robot's appendages, trying to slow it down.

Above Jared, a laser's beam arcs and cuts a molten swath along a nearby building, sending rubble falling to the ground. His legs pound the pavement hard, jumping up to push and hold up a giant boulder, preventing it from falling down on people below. Eve and Zac join in; Eve forming an invisible barrier bubble to deflect stone and Zac racing up a cloud to spray the rubble in another direction.

"Be careful!" Jared shouts, but it's lost over the wind, his arms straining to hold a support beam.

Funnily enough, he doesn't feel hot and sweaty from exertion—he feels cold, almost _freezing_ —

Jared jumps out of the way as a blast of ice hits the building, freezing on contact and holding it up. The crowing behind him as he turns lets him know who's the cause. Frozone—Chad—comes skating down on a giant ice floe, grinning from ear to ear. With the amount of silvery fabric Chad's wearing, Jared has always thought that Chad based at least some percentage of his costume on old school Puff Daddy, the mirror sunglasses doing well to back up that theory.

His momentum carrying him past, Chad skates over to one of the robots, icicles shooting out of his hands. "Hey, man, this is _awesome_! The media better get here before I waste all my kickass moves!"

The first shot of ice slicks the ground, making the robot wobble and slide.

It's slow going, because the three robots keep firing lasers, never staying in the same spot. Loud and stark noises of twisting metal limbs echo in the streets. Whatever police that have managed to get to their location can barely stand their ground, huddled near their cars as they try to get in shots whenever they can.

Jared may have super strength, but he isn't impervious to bullets. He takes care to stay out of direct gunfire before he lifts up a two by four of twisted metal, sending it crashing into the frozen leg of Chad's robot. It only shakes and steps forward, metal jutting awkwardly out of its leg.

Then Jared stops, abruptly, turning to look at Jensen. Sometimes, the super hearing is too good. It isn't perfect—within a close range of a mile or so, without heavy obstructions or thick walls, he can hear pretty much everything.

Jared can hear how Jensen tries to breathe, his heart hammering as he tries to hang on and slow down his robot.

"Jen—" Jared cuts himself off, then says, "ElastiBoy! Watch our for the heat vision!"

He hears Jensen's answer as he's swung in the air, "It's Elastic _Man_!" and for a second, Jared grins, like it's old times again. One could say he has his own issues for feeling nostalgia at people and things trying to kill him, but this is all he knows.

The metal piece of a _No Parking_ sign bends in Jared's hands as he tries to twist it around the visual sensors of the nearest robot, clinging to its back. "Frozone! Take it down!"

"The Incredi-kids got this one!" Chad yells, his ice floe lifting up on a curve of clear ice, out of the way.

Jared's next words are cut off when out of nowhere, a jet of white hot energy shoots into the robot's torso, the warm burn of it nearly toasting Jared's ass. Far down the block is a hovering jet, wingspan almost scraping the buildings. The windows are tinted, but he can picture Eve and Zac in the cockpit, their faces full of amazement.

Chad punches a fist on the air. "Once this hits YouTube, my Frozone Push 'N Popsicles profits will skyrocket! It's all about the residuals, baby!"

Jared falls off the smoking hulk of metal, landing on one knee. He looks up to see Jensen still struggling with the same robot, watching its shoulder cannons glow brightly. Jensen is too close, too wrapped up on the robot to avoid damage, and the heat of it makes his body slack, more rubber than muscle.

If he doesn't get free, then—

Jared can see the last robot bounding towards him, every step leaving rubble in its wake, and he does the sensible thing.

He picks up a nearby taxi with one hand, fingers pressing through the metal, and grips it, sending it slamming into the robot full on.

It's a satisfying crunch as it hits, upper body flying clean off the bottom half.

"Jensen!"

Dropping all pretense, all rules, and only his body responding, running but he's not fast enough, he needs to be there and he lets go and he's flying, _flying_ to Jensen and ripping off the robot head, sparks flying, whirrs of noise and Jensen, not responding, not moving—

 

*

 

  
**THREE MONTHS LATER**   


>   
>  _SAN FRANCISCO, CA. – Reports around the country are coming in about the resurgence of superhero activity after the destruction that occurred in downtown San Francisco three months ago. In the wake of the incident and the subsequent investigation and arrest of Milo Ventimiglia and his company, public polls show support in favor of supers again, with 76% of the vote. The National Supers Agency released a statement today condoning the heroics of Mr. Incredible and his cohorts._   
> 

>   
>  _JIM BEAVER, NSA Director: "As for whether or not the supers will be allowed to resume activities, we'll leave it up to the public and the government to decide."_   
> 

>   
>  _Channel Seven news has just learned that the Mayor's office has invited those supers involved to take part in a key to the city ceremony this Saturday afternoon:_   
> 

>   
>  _MR. INCREDIBLE (Photo Credit: AP)_   
> 

>   
>  _FROZONE (Photo Credit: Frozone Industries)_   
> 

>   
>  _and_   
> 

>   
>  _ELASTIC MAN (Photo Credit: Getty Images)_   
> 

Zac tilts his head, staring at the stock footage on the screen, the old clips the only video that didn't show them wreathed in smoke from amateur camera work. He lunges for the remote, balancing it on his palm. "You guys looked funny."

"Your dad always looked funny," Jared says between mouthfuls of popcorn, coming over to place a bowl on the coffee table. Up on the TV screen, file photos of their past days linger: Jared when he was young, grinning with a class of school kids. Jensen, speaking into his ear piece, shouting orders at some old melee. And Chad's photo happens to be a still of his old game show—Jared can recognize the huge glittery backdrop and the backup ice girl dancers _anywhere_. "Oh man, Chad I can't believe you attached your name to that. Remember when—"

Zac scoots over for Jared to sit down, but Chad sprawls and takes over the precious couch space and nudges Zac with a hand.

"Go put the DVD in," Chad whispers.

"Put the DVD in of what? I wasn't finished talking," Jared protests, moving to sit on one of the recliners. "The end of the story is important."

"Dude, every time you tell this story, you make me out to be some freakin' lightweight."

If Jared is beaming at the sudden voice, he's got every right to be. Three months later and they're all intact, and Jensen stands in the doorway, a wistful grin as he keeps an arm around Eve's shoulders.

Her growth spurt this year puts her right up to Jensen's shoulder. After he kisses the top of her head, she sits down next to Zac. The popcorn's going fast, and that's without Chad eating any—he's in a sudden conversation with Misha nearby, his gaze focused on Chad. If Misha wasn't so good at being polite, Jared would swear Misha was exerting his mind control powers as Chad brainstorms about P.R. potential and how they'll be back in the game for good this time.

It's a comfortable atmosphere that eases the tension from his muscles, Jensen's subsequent shoulder rub helping with that. Even with the news reports talking about the likely superhero ban repeal—and the subsequent replaying footage of him and ElastiBoy, correction, now _Elastic Man_ —Jared doesn't feel awkward. He feels proud.

And happy, because Jensen is a little handsy, dropping the stiff composure for a while and making some decidedly bedroom (and Game Room) touches all over Jared's body. It's a celebration after all.

"I could hold my own," Jensen grumbles as the DVD starts. "For an out of shape guy, you have to give me a little credit."

There's grey at Jensen's temples and his eyes crinkle whenever he laughs or gives that tiny little grin Jared loves, with the brief glimpse of teeth. Sure, there are lines on his face now, but they're both older—their highs and lows read on their faces. More years spent together than apart.

"I think you're in perfect shape for me," Jared whispers, craning his head up to lightly kiss Jensen.

" _I_ think you're both gag inducing," Chad breaks in, looking offended. "Come on! Family Movie Night. You both would take this experience away from your children? I am shocked. _Shocked_. And you know what? A little sad, too."

He wipes away a fake tear as Areion giggles on Misha's lap. Zac turns up the volume.

"Is this the animated series?" Jared asks, leaning forward.

"The _entire_ animated series. No need to thank me. The kids voted."

Eve nods. "It's good to learn about the classics."

"It was twenty years ago!" Jensen squawks indignantly. "Twenty!"

The animation though, feels a great deal older. Nowhere cool as other staples like _Thundercats_ or, hell, _Biker Mice From Mars_ —this is the crappy production skills of the bad years of _Scooby Doo_ , to add more salt to the wound. It had been made after Jared's approval during a flurry of interviews and press when he came into prominence and as a result, made some crappy deals and signed his likeness away.

To Chad, as it turns out. He's always been very convincing. Come to think of it, Misha _had_ been in the room when Jared signed that deal… The thought rolls away as soon as it arrived and Jared feels his mind ease, returning his attentions to the horrible animation playing out on the TV screen.

"Whoa, wait a minute. Is that Elasti _Girl_?" Eve leans forward, gaze narrowing. "Oh my God."

Jensen, meanwhile, only shakes his head, covering his eyes with his palms.

Chad turns, looking up at Jensen. "Dude, I couldn't have kids seeing two ugly guys getting it on. Jensen had to be chickified."

He turns back to look at the cartoon, pleased with himself.

"C'mon, you know Jensen would be hot in thigh-high boots."

Jared does not admit he has had fantasies about Jensen in those kind of boots.

 

*

 

For the next few hours, they watch the entire _Mr. Incredible and Friends_ series, the kids crying out in anger when it ends on a cliffhanger involving monkey laser beams and giant bananas. The fact that the world will never know if ElastiGirl ever changed back to human from a chirpy, extremely annoying monkey sidekick is a _tragedy_ , almost as tragic as the low ratings that finally, mercifully canceled that terrible series.

As bad at it is, it's nice to get everyone together for a Family Movie Night. Even when the night is cut short by a phone call directly from the Mayor's office, and a direct request to stop super villains from blowing up the Hollywood sign—to what end, Jared doesn't know, but he suspects alcohol is involved.

The kids rush off for their costumes, hollering and grinning all the way.

By the time they get back down, the family jet is already revving up in the backyard underground hangar, and Jared and Jensen have changed into their costumes. The jet is a new addition—a costly one, too, but Jensen really got into upgrading it, remembering to include air sickness bags.

Jared raises an eyebrow as Zac sticks an extra mask on Areion, almost rushing past Jared before he stops him, holding him by the back of his costume.

"He's a little too young to come with us, don't you think?"

"Not for long," Zac says, and at this, Areion's baby talk turns into a burp of a fireball.

Jared and Jensen stare, dumbfounded as the kids are already getting into the jet.

"He takes after my side of the family," Jared finally says. The _awesome_ side."

Jensen rolls his eyes, holding the back patio door open for Jared.

"Am I or am I not Mr. Incredible?"

"You're Mr. Not So Bad, today. Put the mask on."

Jared slips it onto his face, feeling himself beam with pride as he leans in and kisses Jensen, gloved hand cupping Jensen's face.

Behind them, still in the living room, Chad, Misha, and Areion are engrossed by the glow of the TV, this time turning on repeats of Chad's old game show. Out of the corner of his eye, Jared can see Chad grab the popcorn bowl, settling back on the couch.

"Have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That covers so many things."

"Hey, Cowboy, you coming or what?" Jensen asks as the backyard flips up, revealing the hangar underneath, Jensen's scientific knowledge finally be used for extra-awesome.

Jared grins and flies towards the jet, and towards his family, ready to save the day.

END


End file.
